She was in such unfathomable, neverending, depthless shit-

"It's a pleasure to meet you." The High Lady offered out a beautiful pale hand that Fallon reluctantly took, the feel of the female's callouses heavy in her palm. "Fallon, was it?"

Long, slim fingers, tipped with lovely curved nails.

The same as Celeste's.

Fallon stared at the hand numbly, momentarily forgetting what, exactly, she was supposed to do with it.

Lucien pointedly cleared his throat, snapping her out of her daze enough to awkwardly shake it.

"Yep," she tried to keep the tremor out of her voice as her heart thundered in her chest, "that's me! The infamous Fallon, Captain of the Siren." And the only person who knows where your dearest dead daughter is. The same dead daughter who wants nothing to do with any of you.

Swallowing hard, she unceremoniously dropped Feyre's hand.

The female cocked her head slightly, her mate's brow arching at the interaction.

Fallon gave a crazed, nervous laugh.

This was madness. How, how had she even managed to stumble into this situation?

Some of the guests nearby sent her concerned looks, brows furrowing as they passed by, no doubt wondering what, exactly, had gotten into the captain who'd so graciously delivered their newest family members from the hands of danger.

The truth, apparently.

She was doomed, oh, she was so royally fucked, with no clear path forward, not even the faintest idea of how to get away without revealing everything—

Rhysand glanced sidelong at Feyre, his eyes crinkling exactly the same way Celeste's did when she was endlessly amused by something.

Fallon's stomach roiled dangerously, and she found herself regretting wearing her tightest corset, regardless of how fantastically it accented her curves.

The room spun around her, and she was suddenly aware of just how drunk she actually was. Blinking, she willed the wavering walls to keep still just long enough for her to gather her thoughts, the murmuring of the crowd around her loud as she struggled to piece together some semblance of sobriety - or sanity, for that matter.

Oddly, vomiting on the floor didn't seem like such a terrible idea. Or perhaps on the High Lord's immaculately polished shoes, so shiny she could make out her own reflection.

Oh, she looked intoxicated. Incredibly gorgeous, or course, but certainly inebriated.

Fallon felt herself visibly sway on her feet and pled with the Mother to grant her just a moment's sobriety—

"Lucien hasn't told us much about you." The female before her directed a sly look toward said male standing on her right, laughter clearly written across her beautiful features. Fallon could have sworn she heard Lucien groan beneath his breath beside her. "Though I'm sure he was saving us the honor of meeting you."

"Honor? Oh yes, certainly an honor." She distantly registered the people around them slowly making their way to the various tables set up in the hall, taking their seats as dinner was no doubt about to be served. "I'm unquestionably an honor." Feigning stupidity, she forced herself to squint into the Lady's uncomfortably piercing blue eyes and bluntly asked, "Who did you say you were again?"

Not Celeste's parents, nope, definitely not that.

"Fallon," Lucien groaned beside her, the warmth seeping from him unbearable and intensifying the nausea consuming her. She'd be lucky if she made it out of the estate without repainting some of the Court's obnoxiously tasteful wallpaper an awful chunky shade.

Sweat beaded on her forehead.

She'd personally tell Vaerek he was right about her poor timing and lack of awareness if she could just escape this situation. Perhaps she'd even give up drinking for a week, maybe two—

An awkward silence ensued.

Rhysand cleared his throat.

"Ah . . . why don't we find our seats?" He gave a deep rumbling chuckle, the cadence exactly the same as her fellow captain's - Fallon almost squeaked in panic at the sound. "We're at the head table."

We?

Dismissing themselves, the Lord and Lady smiled and nodded to her date before the pair turned to leave.

Fallon almost collapsed in relief at their departure, watching as their forms weaved through the crowd, away from her and the truth she was harboring. Now all she had to do was slip out the back, quietly make her way back to the Siren-

"Come on," Lucien gripped her arm gently, supporting her wavering form as he directed her after the retreating High Lord and Lady, the exact direction she didn't want to go. "Let's get you some water." The male gave her an assessing once-over, his mouth twisting somewhere between disgust and concern. "Perhaps a pitcher."

Panicking, she tried to wriggle away, her palms sweaty as she shoved at the hand on her arm. "No, actually, I think I should just take my leave—" And run as quickly as I can and never, ever return.

Her attempts to dislodge him were unsuccessful, even as the scent of annoyance began leaching from him.

"You need to eat," he cast her a look that said he clearly didn't think she was in any condition to leave, much less be able to walk more than a few steps unassisted without tumbling, "and to sit down a moment."

Fallon didn't even bother to tell him she had absolutely no appetite as he steered her up to the head table where Feyre and Rhysand had seated themselves, flanked by Cassian, his mate, another male doused in shadows and three beautiful high fae females, one nearly as small as a child, one with lovely blonde locks and one who looked suspiciously like the High Lady.

Oh lovely, she thought a bit wildly, I'm attending a family dinner in Celeste's place.

A family who'd destroyed and abandoned her for Mother knew what reason, who were hiding something foul beneath the glamour and light of their beautiful city. A court of Night, of shadows and demons. A city whose entire history was shrouded in secrets.

She wasn't entirely certain she was breathing.

What had she gotten herself into? Had she gotten those orphans into?

Fallon's legs grew stiff as Lucien escorted her to her seat, situated between an empty chair and the beautiful blonde. Politely, he pulled the chair out for her and gestured for her to sit. It took her a moment to remember the action before she slid onto the velvet cushion, back stiff.

The stunning female beside her paused her munching on bread to offer a bright, friendly smile.

Fallon could only managing a cringing one in return.

What monster lurked beneath that beautiful face? Lurked beneath all of their skins to make them cruel enough to mutilate one of their own and then feign that they missed her dearly-

Lucien slid into the seat beside her, his gaze unwavering, something between concern and annoyance flickering there. There was a tinge of humiliation in his scent too.

Frankly, she didn't give a damn.

Had she been sober she would have told him exactly where he could shove his shame and that she had a much bigger problem on her hands-

But she could tell him no such thing. Not without revealing everything Celeste was so carefully hiding, not without giving away what she now presumed was likely her friend's darkest secret.

She closed her eyes and lurched as the room spun, her sudden grip on the table jarring the wine glasses.

Cassian, the male whose company she thought she'd have enjoyed most, barely contained his smirk.

Had she not been so eager to bolt she might have winked at him, goaded him to drink himself into a similar stupor so that they might revel together.

Instead, she kept her gaze away from his wings, fury and horror bubbling in her stomach as she considered just how much pain her friend must have suffered upon losing those appendages. It was no surprise she'd never mentioned it.

And it was Fallon's job to keep it quiet, even as every instinct in her demanded she give them a piece of her mind. To pull the males' hair loose from their scalps, no matter how attractive they were, and demand an explanation as to how any family, dark history or no, could abuse one of their own, and a child no less.

The room bobbed dangerously, the lights and noises suddenly too bright and loud.

No, downing half of her rum-filled flask before dumping the rest into the punch bowl hadn't exactly been her brightest shining moment - not that'd she'd ever intended to be coherent for this particular little party. No, her plan had been to get wasted and find a convenient moment to whisk Lucien into some little alcove, peeling each article off of him slowly . . . perhaps even in the High Lord and Lady's bed, just for shits. That would have been something to check off her list.

Instead everything had gone straight to hell.

Perhaps she could excuse herself as being sick, feign illness-

Fallon jumped with a yelp as a wraith materialized from nothing beside her carrying a tray of steaming bowls, her dark locks neatly braided down her back. The female smiled apologetically as she deposited a bowl of soup in front of her.

Steam wafted up from the silver bowl, its contents a dark red, no doubt nearly the same shade as the gruesome scars that adorned her friend's shoulders. The thought had her stomach protesting. She pushed the bowl away from her.

Horrible, this was absolutely horrible—

"Well, Fallon," her inner turmoil was interrupted by Feyre, the low beams of evening sunlight highlighting her pristine ivory gown, setting it glowing immaculately, so at odds with the darkness beneath. "What are your thoughts of Velaris? Have you enjoyed your time here?"

It was great until around five minutes ago.

"Lovely." She blinked and made an effort to straighten herself. "Very lovely."

That damned beautiful face smiled in return, a mischievous light flaring to life in those icy orbs. Fallon contemplated chunking a fork at her just to see what kind of reflexes the female possessed. Instead she dipped her spoon into her blood-colored soup, carefully sipping at the liquid she could barely taste.

Beets. It was beet soup—

"So," Cassian bit into a large chunk of crusty bread, chewing noisily as he addressed her, "I'm surprised to see you came by yourself," there was a knowing twinkle in those hazel eyes, "and didn't bring your mysterious friends who've been helping in this endeavor. The lot of you have certainly made a name for yourselves."

Fallon choked as she sucked the scalding soup down her throat, fingers clamping down on her spoon.

It was getting worse.

Hacking, she spewed burgundy puree across the table, sending droplets flying onto Feyre's gown and the beautiful, quiet male's dark jacket. The shadows at his shoulders curled as he raised smoldering eyes to meet hers, like sentient beings watching, observing—

Dangerous, he was likely the most dangerous of them.

Had he been the one to take her wings?

Fallon's drunken thoughts grew more elaborate as images of the torture he'd likely put her friend to came to life in her mind, images of those broad shoulders and toned biceps inflicting pain—

Fallon, she chastised herself, realizing where her mind was wandering, focus.

She felt a firm pressure on her back as Lucien thumped her between the shoulders, attempting to help her dislodge the liquid.

"Friends?" she wheezed as tears streamed down her face, no doubt smudging her painstakingly applied makeup and completing her newfound "drunken maniac" aesthetic, "What friends? I don't have friends." Certainly not your dead niece.

"What I think Fallon means to say," Lucien cut in blandly beside her, his palm still resting softly between her shoulder blades, "is that the crew of the Loreley would prefer their identities to remain anonymous. She believes it's in the best interest of all parties involved."

All parties.

She considered crawling beneath the table.

"Cassian," Rhysand sighed from his seat next to Feyre, swirling wine in his crystalline cup, "perhaps now isn't the best time." Fallon caught the charming wink he sent the male, the same one Celeste gave her when she knew she was good and truly sloshed.

Cassian snorted. "Nonsense. There's absolutely no reason she can't share their information here, who's going to say or do anything?" He jabbed a thumb toward the tiny female. "Amren? What will she do? Nip at their ankles—?"

The female in question spoke for the first time, silvery eyes flashing as she snarled, "Say it again, dog. I'll skin you before the words leave your mouth—"

"Oh, that's scary coming from a female who can barely reach the bottom shelf on her own—"

A pulse of power rattled through the room, looming and ominous, silencing the chattering for a moment and reaffirming just what a mistake Fallon had made in coming.

Dread consumed her. She had to make her escape now.

There was one thing she could do, one thing that had never failed to help her slip away from a difficult situation.

A little trick her father had once suggested to her in her youth.

"Cassian, please." There was warning in Feyre's tone, even if her face poorly hid her amusement. "We have a guest."

"Oh I'm certain Fallon doesn't mind—"

Fallon shot up, the world around her weaving once again as she struggled to focus her gaze on the High Lord that so resembled her friend. The bantering silenced, every member of this court of liars turning their attention to her as she proclaimed, loudly, "I have to shit."

Lucien wished the Mother would strike him down, if only to save him from the mortification that now filled his entire being. Not that he was in the least bit surprised.

No, quite the contrary, this was exactly what he had expected from Fallon.

He'd actually become quite concerned when she'd stumbled earlier, her eternally poised demeanor abandoned as he'd half-carried her to the table, each step more difficult than the last. He'd even scented her to see if she were ill but had been unable to catch anything except the hint of her perfume and the overwhelming stench of her specially brewed rum.

A drink that once left him bedridden for a week.

Of course, that had been her choice of drink to "liven up" a public banquet.

And the fact that she'd smuggled in an entire flask of it without him knowing . . . now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure why he had even hoped for anything else.

He'd almost excused the both of them the second he'd seen her dumping it into the punch bowl, resigning himself to leading the very drunk female back to her chambers aboard the Siren to sleep it off and to dissuade her inevitable advances.

It had been his desire to introduce the female to his . . . family that had made him second guess himself, and his curiosity to test his bond with Elain in the presence of Fallon to see if civility could be achieved made him falter.

A mistake he was sorely regretting.

Carefully, he'd watched her as they'd been seated, her normally golden skin wan as she took in the Court of Dreams like an array of monsters poised to eat her at a moment's notice. He'd never once seen the captain so uneasy, and the way her heart kept stuttering in her chest—

A surprising pulse of protectiveness had seized him.

She was terrified - something he'd never seen in all of his years of knowing her. Not once.

It wasn't until Cassian had brought up the crew of the Loreley that some semblance of understanding had dawned on him. She'd been adamant about keeping their identities a secret, a wish he would have been happy to fulfill had she not decided to . . . take control of the situation herself.

Now he only wished he hadn't brought her at all.

"It was the oysters, those damn oysters." Lucien blinked in surprise; he'd half-hoped he'd somehow misheard her . . . announcement. To his knowledge, Fallon hadn't consumed any oysters that afternoon and he'd been fairly certain none had been served at the banquet. "You know how the oysters get to me." The female wobbled dangerously beside him, the suffocating smell of liquor seeping from her as she pointed a single finger at Rhysand and once again stated, loudly, "I have to shit."

Silence.

"Bathing room is down the hall, third door on the left." Ever poised, Rhysand gestured toward the set of mahogany doors leading out of the ballroom, though Lucien could see the amusement brewing beneath the surface.

He didn't know whether to look away or watch as Fallon bobbed her head beside him and began to saunter toward the door leading out of the ballroom.

Mirth flashed again in Feyre's eyes, and as Lucien caught sight of Elain's startled blink he decided in that moment he would never bring another female to the estate again.

A crash sounded as Fallon abruptly fell between two tables, followed by a loud, but reassuring, yelp.

"I'm fine! Just fine."

Lucien rubbed at his forehead as his lover popped back up again, straightening that ridiculous purple hat that she had flatly refused to take off for dinner. He supposed he should be grateful that she was still somehow clothed, though the scrap of fabric beneath that corset she'd worn could barely be considered as such.

The son of Autumn didn't miss the choking noise from down the table where Cassian had buried his head in his arms and was trying, unsuccessfully, to stifle his laughter. Didn't miss the quiet, knowing look that was shared between all of them as they pretended not to hear Fallon's curse as she pulled unsuccessfully at the door before realizing she needed to push it.

Lucien tried not to shrink away from even the amusement lighting Azriel's eyes as his shadows no doubt informed him of the string of curses leaving her lips as Fallon raced away into the bathing chamber and promptly slammed the door shut.

"She's . . ." Lucien cringed as Feyre struggled for the words that easily came to his own mind: obnoxious, terrible, disgraceful— "unique."

The sound of muffled retching floated through the hall, so loud that many of the guests shared concerned looks.

Lucien flinched.

He should have never agreed to bring Fallon along.

Some sense of sobriety claimed Fallon as the last of the liquor left her system and was flushed down the lovely porcelain toilet that she'd just accosted. Groaning, she straightened herself and forced her feet beneath her, the raw panic that had consumed her now drove her to get out of the estate and city as fast as she possibly could.

She wobbled slightly. All right, maybe not sober, but . . . better.

Taking a step toward the door she watched the dark wood panels seemingly break the laws of physics as she threw a hand out and braced herself. Or not.

Regardless, under no circumstances could she ever return to this place, could she ever speak to anyone associated with this Court. Her mind flickered to Lucien and a half beat of sorrow consumed her. She would have to say farewell to him too.

An image of her friend's lovely face flashed in her mind that eased the guilt. Regardless of her own personal desires, Celeste's wellbeing had to be her priority.

And it was her secret that she was to keep.

Not that she'd done an exceptionally good job of being subtle with the topic.

She mentally kicked herself for her foolishness, knowing full well that Vaerek would have scolded her endlessly had he seen that little show. It would have been a lecture that would likely have gone down as one of the worst in her history.

And she'd done some very reckless things.

Glancing into the large mirror above the sink she noticed that her shirt had become ruffled and the curls she'd set her hair in that morning were now disheveled, loose waves, her makeup just as smeared as she'd thought.

Things were truly not going according to plan.

Cursing, she turned from the mirror and looked back toward the door, knowing that escaping through the front door would be impossible since she would have to return to the ballroom to make it back to the entrance.

She could attempt to find an alternative route through this monstrosity of a manor but it would cost her too much time and would run her the risk of being caught. Racking her foggy brain for a solution, she looked up and finally felt a smile come to her face.

There above her, with dollops of rich evening sunlight streaming through it was a small hinged window, cracked just so to allow a breeze to enter.

It was small but it would have to do. Hiking up her corset as she stepped carefully on top of the toilet, she only hoped her hips and chest would fit.

Fallon's retching had finally subsided, the whispering conversation of the ballroom quickly returning upon the fiery-haired female's departure. Sadly, the sound had done little to cover the sound as she'd expelled the liquor from her system in the public bathing room closest to the hall.

A sound Lucien knew the Court around him had heard in extraordinary detail.

The disdain dripping from Amren and Nesta's features had nearly sent him under the table, though at this point any action of the sort would only make the situation worse. Lucien certainly preferred their silent judgement to the look of pity Elain had sent him, however.

He cringed as he watched his mate force her lovely face into a neutral expression.

"Well," she gently patted her lips with a napkin as she sent him a small, tentative smile, one that once would have sent him into a furious bloodlust, "she seems nice."

"She's certainly . . ." he struggled to find the proper words, ". . . a handful. She's . . . tolerable most of the time."

"You mean, when she's sober?" Nesta replied, her icy tone even as she watched the door that Fallon had disappeared through, her mate rapidly losing his composure beside her, his face still buried in his arms as he thumped a fist on the table. Lucien still couldn't believe the captain had managed to make such forward advances on said female and was still somehow alive.

"Ah, yes."

"Oh come now, she's not so bad." Rhysand swirled the wine in his cup again, visibly suppressing a smirk. "I think she's a lovely addition to this party."

Feyre cocked a fine brow at her mate.

Lucien couldn't have agreed with a look more.

Reaching for his own glass of wine he quickly downed the entirety of its contents, mindfully avoiding Elain's gaze—he wasn't certain he wanted to know what, exactly, his mate thought of his . . . companion.

He was suddenly very grateful he hadn't introduced her as more than that. Especially not as his . . . lover.

Refilling his glass, he was contemplating just how he intended to deal with said female when Mor's lovely voice chirped at him, soil-toned eyes trailing something through the open floor to ceiling windows and doors that led out to the estate's garden.

"Speaking of, there goes your girlfriend."

"She's not my—" Lucien stopped his instinctual rebuttal, slowly registering Mor's words. Turning sharply in his chair, horror leached through him as he caught sight of Fallon stumbling through the rose bushes, hat askew, cursing loudly enough as she tripped over a small statue that some of the guests covered their children's ears. "-FALLON!"

"You sure about that?" Cassian huffed, now gasping for breath as he struggled to contain his laughter.

"How did she-?" That was Elain, head cocked in confusion.

"Must've gone through the bathroom window," Azriel interjected, a small smile curving the normally stone-faced male's lips. "It's the only way to get out there without coming back to the ballroom. I'm impressed."

The bellowing laugh that escaped Mor, Rhysand, and Cassian as they finally lost control had heat racing up Lucien's cheeks. Feyre only blinked in surprise before she snorted loudly, not even attempting to turn it into a cough.

This had turned into an absolute nightmare, one that his pride would not live down for the next few centuries. He'd begged her to behave himself and in doing so had set himself up for catastrophic failure. Something, he had to do something to stop her-

Well, his entire reputation was gone now anyway. Shooting abruptly out of his seat, he winnowed.

Fallon had nearly broken the heel of her favorite boots when she'd slipped out of the window and landed, rather ungracefully, on the plush grass below. At least Priscilla was in decent shape, her purple velvet only slightly wrinkled.

Now she only had to slip her way through the garden and down to the port where the Siren was docked. It would only be a few quick steps if she could avoid falling into another of those damned rose bushes—how many bodies had they buried beneath this soil? Used the decomposing remains of their enemies, and possibly friends, to fertilize their garden-

A hand materialized out of nowhere and gripped her arm as she stumbled back with a shout.

She'd been damned if she'd become one of their victims too-

"Fallon," Lucien, of course it was Lucien, his handsome face inches from her own—had his nose always been so beautiful? Covered in the faintest trace of freckles- "What the hell are you doing?"

Trying to get the hell out of here. Trying to protect an innocent from these monsters.

"Leaving."

She slipped out of his grip and stepped away from him.

"Fallon." There was exasperation in that tone . . . exasperation and concern. "What is going on? Is this because I asked you to behave yourself?"

This is to protect my friend.

"I always behave," she snarled, letting indignance fill her tone as she turned and continued striding quickly and as steadily as possible across the garden, trampling flowers beneath her heels. "I've just tired of this company and wish to retire for the night."

Lies, lies that were oddly bitter on her lips as she told them. She hadn't realized how much some part of her had come to trust Lucien . . . to care about him.

She ignored the sinking feeling as she maneuvered around a particularly pretty bush adorned with lovely yellow blooms.

A tick appeared in his jaw as he followed after, more mindful of where he placed his steps.

"This is nonsense, Fallon." He gestured at her, golden eye whirring as though trying to decipher what exactly her motives were. "Why are you running? Fallon, get back here—"

He winnowed in front of her again, stopping her in her tracks right before the largest set of glass doors thrown wide open to the cool evening air perfumed with flowers, the smell of dinners wafting out to them.

"Fallon." He gently grabbed her shoulders, the flicker in his russet eye telling her that he could sense the fear in her, was trying to piece together what exactly she was doing, what she was hiding.

Just let me go Lucien, let me figure this out—

She heard a throat clear. A cacophony of them.

They had an audience. An audience that could damn her friend if she misspoke, if she made the wrong choice . . . Could she risk telling him? Would he help her?

Fallon considered the face she'd come to enjoy, the one she felt a spark of joy with when she saw it after a long time apart. But also the same one who'd only criticized her, who'd never taken the time to actually know her-and his relation to the people who sat in that dining room watching them, who'd hurt her friend so horrifically-

She knew he wouldn't stop, that he would follow her until he got an answer he deemed appropriate.

Her heart sank as she knew what she had to do.

Lucien could have chalked her behavior up to her just being . . . Fallon, had it not been for the undertone of fear, the urgency with which she moved, the sudden shift in her scent halfway through the banquet. Something was wrong, something she wasn't telling him and the way she was squaring him up . . . something had spooked her, severely.

"Fallon—"

"Lucien." She spoke clearly, her hazel eyes bright in the evening light as she locked gazes with him. "I can't do this anymore, I can't hide this."

"What are you talking about?" What could she possibly have been hiding? The female was an open book, had always been . . . wasn't she?

Her arched brows raised as she gestured vaguely at him, at his entire body, something like disgust crossing her features. "This."

Was she serious?

"Fallon-"

"I just . . . Lucien." She leaned back, suddenly casual, at ease, her red, plush lips peeling back from her teeth. "I've grown bored with you. You're so . . . lackluster," she flickered her eyes down to his hips and lower, "and so . . . petite. I don't see this working anymore. I need something more . . . fulfilling."

Lucien wished he hadn't caught the choking noise from the head table, Feyre if he wasn't mistaken. There was a distant clatter of forks hitting plates in shock.

"Excuse me?"

"You have to understand, I care for you, I really do, but . . ." His lover sighed dramatically, straightening her hat. "I can't keep living this lie. I know you don't exactly have a lot of options available to you and I really wanted to help you-"

He had been wrong. It could get worse. So, so much worse.

Some immature part of him crept forward.

"You certainly weren't saying that this morning."

Gasps from the ballroom. The wrong choice of words, the wrong thing to say. Why did she make him act like this? Why was she so . . . infuriating? But the fear in her eyes, the strange behavior-

"Darling, I'm a very generous person." She ran a hand down his face, the touch still turning his insides molten before she pulled it away. "But a lady can only pretend so much."

He gaped at her, mortified.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" He leaned forward, trying to keep his voice low, "Why bring it up now?" Right in the middle of a banquet with most of my closest friends?

She fanned herself. "I know I can be a bit selfish and, well, I thought maybe helping you would be charitable." She shook her head. "But let's just say . . . seeing some of the options I could have this evening has put a few things in perspective. I'm sorry, Lucien, but this is done."

"You. . . you're dumping me? Fallon, we're not even-" Disbelief filled him. Fallon had made it very clear their . . . situation was not to be considered a relationship in any sense of the word. And the show she was making . . . he'd never been able to show his face in polite company again.

"Shh, no more." She pressed a finger to his lips that he immediately removed as she batted those long lashes up at him. "Let me go, darling." She blew a kiss at him and winked before turning and striding back off between flowers and hedges. "Now, I must be on my way. Please bid your . . . friends," she cast one final, nervous glance towards the ballroom, "farewell for me."

Too dumbstruck to move, Lucien watched the captain somewhat more gracefully hopped over the low stone wall at the edge of the garden, vanishing outside of the estate.

What the hell had just happened?

Fallon had dumped him, had completely disregarded him.

He should have been ecstatic but he just felt . . . numb. Oddly empty.

He wasn't certain how long he had stood there in disbelief when a soft voice cracked his fog, sending a pulse through him that had his spine straightening.

"Lucien," that voice, the melodious chime that made his insides twist in possessiveness, filled with both amusement and concern, "are you all right?"

It was Elain. His Elain.

The bond snapped instantly back into place, burning and pulsing, a living thing that drove him to madness. He took in a burning breath, trying and failing to direct his attention elsewhere.

With Fallon's departure she'd taken his relief from the bond with her.

He turned, meeting Elain's gaze where she stood in the open doorway, having apparently risen from the table to check on him. She half-raised a hand to him, and the mating bond flared with such intensity it nearly sent him to his knees.

He knew what he had to do, for everyone involved.

Without hesitation or explanation, he made the first jump toward Spring.

"Get up, time to go—" Fallon didn't even bother with manners as she threw the door to her father and Vaerek's quarters open, barely registering the yelp of surprise and naked bodies fumbling for covers as she barked orders. "We need to be out of port in fifteen minutes. MOVE."

She'd already accosted the rest of her crew, throwing them into high alert to get the hell out of port as quickly as they could.

Her fathers would be no exception.

"Pup," her father's voice was groggy as he hopped up, searching for his pants in the gloom of the cabin, "what happened-?"

"I don't have time to explain now, just move." She was panicking, pure undiluted terror, hoping she'd made enough of a scene that no one would try to follow her. "Please."

"You'd better have a good explanation for this," Vaerek hissed as he wrapped the blanket around his bare waist, hair askew from the activities he and Avi had been engaged in as he began searching for his boots.

The remains of Fallon's ragged nerves shredded.

"I will tell you later." Growling, she pointed a finger towards the stairs, using a tone that had her other adoptive father slowing in his tracks. "Get on deck, now."

"Fallon-"

"Just go, Dad." She had no time to waste, she had to get far away as quickly as she could. Had to ensure that the monsters of this fair city never knew that their daughter was alive and well . . . and on their payroll.

Author's Notes:

Anyone remember the "why are you running?" vine? THAT's Lucien and Fallon. watch?v=W6oQUDFV2C0&ab_channel=MatthewF.